T'is the season
by LadyLeafling
Summary: Bruce and Darcy date, breakup and get back together... all in time for the holidays.


**A\N: In an attempt to combat the powerful tempest known as writer's block AND cheer up a friend who's going through a bad breakup, I wrote this. **

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Usually, when the molten gold and vermillion autumn leaves had dropped from all the trees in the neighborhood, and left even the greatest of oak trees bare and wilted, Darcy would be outside, making a fool of herself, as she played in the tall stacks of fallen foliage. Clad in a scarf and her favorite leather boots, she would jump into piles of freshly rake leaves and chase wandering hares back into their hidey-holes—but, that was a time before she met Bruce.

After they had started dating, Darcy spent her first late-autumn with him never doing the same thing twice. Because, she adventurous—and he was far more willing than she originally gave him credit for—trying new things every day.

One date, they spent watching a marathon of horror-flicks at the movie theater.

Another; they spent roller-skating in the park. It was corny, but he didn't tell her no. Not when the sex between them was just so great. He'd jump through hoops, if it meant he got to third base.

Eventually, though, Darcy couldn't take it anymore. Bruce was too nice. Too fucking nice. Not that she was really expected more from a nerdy guy who still wears tweed sports-jackets. But, seriously, not even she anticipated that he would suffocate her so much.

They broke up when the first sign of red appeared on the leaves, almost a year after they started dating. Darcy thought she was doing him a favor, by breaking his heart over the phone. Afterwards, they fell out of contact completely.

As the season shifted and the Dog Days fell away to autumn, Darcy watched children run through the streets, dressed up in their Halloween costumes, laughing and playing, as they went door to door 'Trick-or-Treating'.

She had only felt bitter about being alone, when they came to her door, and asked her for candy. The children's chaperones were a young couple; as handsome together as they were apart. They kissed and laughed, in their matching costumes. Darcy burned with anger and gave the children the worst candy she had on hand. When the chaperones complained, she flipped them the bird and told them to get off her property, before she alerted the authorities. "And if you do _anything_ to my house, I swear I'll—" her threat surely wouldn't go unrecalled.

When the leaves fell from the trees, this year, Darcy was alone and being called up north to visit relatives for Thanksgiving. The family gathering was all the more tragic, as she had learned that her grandmother had passed. Darcy stayed tears of grief, but ended up crying into her mother's awaiting embrace, despite how hard she wished to stay strong.

When Darcy's dad asked her if she wanted to talk about her feelings; she cried all the more hard and left before the clock struck midnight. Missing out on the Black Friday sells made her pissed, and her tears dried up shortly after.

When frost began to form on the window, Darcy found herself a recluse. Early in the year, she had taken three weeks off of work in anticipation for Christmas and New Year's. Now, as she sulked around her home in silence, she wished she hadn't. Darcy loathed the idea of heading back home the rest of the Holidays, especially knowing that her family would still be buzzing about her hasty departure last time.

Eventually, one evening, sleep eluded her, and Darcy took to the computer to distract her mind. Several people had contacted her, and she ended up playing catch-up all night with her friends and workmates.

Cleaning out her inbox, Darcy ended up calling Jane to bitch about how all men sucked. Jane wasn't impressed, however. "Didn't _you_ break up with Bruce?" She reasoned. Darcy hated Jane at the moment, hanging up promptly; she resolved not call the brunette back for weeks. Yeah, that'll teach her a lesson.

Before Darcy discarded her phone, she cycled through the numbers saved in it, and decided it was time to delete Bruce's number and move on with her life. Her heart raced as she tried to will herself erase the phone-number. When she couldn't, Darcy threw her phone across the room, angrily. It stayed in her laundry hamper for a week, before she found it looking for her stockings.

When the screen lit-up after being fully charged, Darcy stared at Bruce's phone-number for an hour and a half. Her friends at work told her she was stronger than this. If she wanted to talk to Bruce, then there was nothing stopping her from doing it, other than herself.

She puffed her chest out defiantly and dialed his number. She got the answering machine… thrice… and eventually, she left a message. _"Christmas is coming up… I know we haven't spoken in a while, but—I think it would be fun to, I don't know, catch up? Call me when you get this." _

He never did call her back. Even though she called him for the next few weeks and left messages, too. She was pissed. She almost cut her hair and got a tattoo, but that would mean she would need a new ID for work and she didn't want to go through the grueling process of getting that done. She would have done it, though. In a heartbeat.

Sure enough, when Christmas day arrived—which was brilliant; decorations were littered all throughout the town. Snow had fallen fresh and blanketed the neighborhood; turning it into a winter wonderland, just like the weatherman had promised—nieces and nephews, cousins and etc., all piled down the stairs and dove greedily under the tree looking for their presents. Darcy was wounded. Heart absolutely hurt because Bruce didn't show. Bitter, too, because she was surrounded by happy couples and smiling children.

Curled up on the couch in a heap of misery, clad in a pair of worn-out pajama bottoms and a tacky Christmas-themed jumper, she drank insatiably from a white mug with Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer on it. Her mother chided her for her slovenliness, for which she replied with angry huffs and inappropriate hand-gestures. As she downed the mixture of eggnog and hard liquid, Darcy wondered how she screwed everything up with Bruce. Okay, she knew just what she'd done wrong, but… still.

Darcy sulked on the couch all morning, drinking and getting more depressed. When her dad came and shooed her out of the living room, she went and fretted in her childhood bedroom. By then, her mug was long empty, but the brunette kept sticking her fingers inside to chase the remaining trails of her drink.

Sighing after she literally wiped the glass clean, Darcy sprawled out on her bed and cried into the folds of her pillow. She hated this. She hated being home for the holidays—_alone, _at that, while everyone was cozy with a boyfriend or girlfriend, or a husband or a wife…

Hell! Even her widower-grandfather had a date—and that made her pissed, not only at how she royally fucked things up with Bruce, but because he didn't fight for her, like guys did in those horribly cheesy and unrealistic rom-coms.

Crying until she was red in the face, Darcy cursed herself in between sobs for falling so hopelessly in love. She hated commitment; hated what staying cooped up with one person too long did to people, but, as she wailed herself hoarse, she couldn't help but feel envious.

Not of her mother and father; who couldn't stand each other's company—not of her cousin and her husband; who couldn't stand to be without of each other company—but, of Bruce. She felt envious of _Bruce_. If not for any reason else, it was because they had been broken-up for only _three months_, and not once did _he_ call her … or, he text her … or, message on her Facebook—or, send her a letter _in a fucking bottle_.

How could he be so calloused? He was the one who was so worried about their relationship. He was the one who wanted them to be 'perfect'. Why wasn't he here, on his knees, begging her to take him back? Wasn't that how these things worked?

Instead, she was crying her lungs out, feeling like total crap, and missing every little thing about him. Even the things about him that pissed her off—and, that was scary—because, that was some shit her cousin would talk about; loving someone for all their qualities, good or bad. She felt sick to her stomach.

Darcy pulled herself out of bed with more effort than she thought necessary and dragged herself to the bathroom; where she tagged the toilet with leftover turkey and spiked-eggnog. Gagging and sobbing, Darcy felt like she had hit rock bottom. Her aforementioned, starry-eyed, cousin only made it worse by appearing in the doorway with consoling words and soothing pats on the back.

Darcy couldn't remember a time she cried so hard—and so, Jean cooed and told her that everything would be alright. Even though Darcy didn't believe a word she said, she nodded and agreed for appearance's sake.

The rest of the afternoon, Darcy spent in the living room on the couch—despite her father's complaints about her sulking—curled up under a mountain of blankets. The rest of her family would be arriving shortly for dinner and more present exchanging.

Darcy couldn't bear the thought of seeing more happy couples. She buried her face in the cushions of the couch and hoped she would suffocate. The putrid stench of ass that clung to the pillows made her gag. She abandoned her attempt on her life, soon after, before it got anywhere serious.

The clock read **_'Six-Thirty, Post Meridiem.' _**when the doorbell rang. The sound echoed tauntingly throughout the house and Darcy's ears. Her niece and nephew came running for the door, dark curls bouncing as they ran. Laughing and grabbing for his sister, as they tried to beat each other to the door. Darcy swore at both of them, before ducking under the coverlets.

The door opened and the children greeted the person at the door curtly—the light living their eyes, as if they were addressing a strange somebody they had never met—before they moved from the door and announced the guest. "Mom! There's a Dr. Banner at the door!" Her niece called out.

Darcy jolted upright, the covers flopping off her head, as she whipped around and saw Bruce standing awkwardly in the doorway, as friends and family from all over the house swarmed him in an instant. "So, you're the guy Darcy's been going on about…" Her Aunt, Mable, pondered aloud, as she pulled Bruce in the house with her gnarled hands.

Although she would never admit it, Darcy was beside herself with joy at seeing Bruce being harassed by her family. She jumped off the couch, and almost broke her neck, as the covers refused to release her feet and ankles. Detangling herself carefully, Darcy pushed through a wall of relatives and yelled as loud as she could with her raw voice, "Bruce!"

The stout man hardly had time to brace himself, before she jumped into his arms. Bruce caught her with some difficulty, taking a few steps backwards, as he did.

"Darcy," He said uncomfortably. She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. He looked genuinely surprised—and happy… _happy to see her_. She broke down in tears, again. Her young cousin was somewhere in the background, but she could hear Audrey loud and clear, _"Kiss him, already!"_ the pre-teen complained.

Letting out something between a sob and a chuckle, Darcy grabbed him by the sides of his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss. It got messy, as her tears spilled between both of their faces. As soon as it started going somewhere, children were being led from the room by their parents. Darcy's father would have had a heart-attack, if not for the Mrs. dragging him into the kitchen.

When things finally calmed down, and it was just the two of them in the front room, Darcy finally stopped kissing Bruce. Looking up at him with teary eyes, she sniffled. She never looked more vulnerable in her life. Bruce brushed her hair out of her face, before pressing two chaste kisses on each of her eyelids. "I'm sorry—" he started.

She didn't want to hear it. She didn't deserve an apology. Darcy shook her head, "No. Don't." Bruce's lips pressed in a hard line. "But, I—" she cut him off with another kiss and another _"No." _

He gave up, knowing he lost. Clearing his throat, Bruce reached into the pocket of his coat. "Here, I got you a present." As he spoke, he pulled out a small, perfectly wrapped box.

Darcy's eyes watered even more, as she took it from him and fidgeted with the green bow that sat neatly atop the box. Looking between him and it, she said, "I'm an idiot… this is perfect."

"You haven't even opened it yet." Bruce said, with a brow raised.

Darcy shook her head at his words. "That's not what I meant… never mind."

Afterwards, she grew silently as she carefully removed the wrapping and bows from the box and set it down on a nearby end-table. Devoid of colorful paper, Darcy went to opening the box. Inside was a pack of trading cards. They looked vintage. "Groovy…" She exclaimed shakily, grinning as she closed the box and tossed it onto the couch.

"You didn't even—" He sounded exasperated. Darcy kissed him so he couldn't complain. This time the kiss was slow and practiced. Sickeningly sweet and utterly romantic, and for once, it didn't send Darcy running for the hills. Threading her fingers through Bruce's dark hair, she pulled back and smirked wickedly. Bruce recognized that grin anywhere. It was what got them in this mess, in the first place. "What are you planning?" He questioned warily.

Darcy shook her head, as her eyes twinkled with a filthy promise. "Nothing…" Her tone was heavy with forced innocence. Bruce was about to question her again, when he felt her hands slip into his coat. His breath hitched—and then he stopped breathing completely, when her hand dipped below the waistband of his pants. _Oh…_

"Darcy…what are you doing… we're in your parents' house!" Bruce hissed, trying to stay as quiet as possible. They didn't need anyone catching them like this. Darcy laughed, before whispering hotly in his ear, _"If you don't stop talking, you're not going to get your present."_

So, things with them weren't perfect, but they tried to make it work. Eventually, Darcy would feel trapped by Bruce again, and run away from him and his dastardly commitment, or if not that; Bruce would grow tired of Darcy's immaturity and look for someone more capable… possibly someone nearer to his age?

Until then, there was still fun to be had. Darcy's mother had a fridge stocked full of food and whip cream that they could eat, while they counted her presents. And, if that got boring, Darcy didn't mind giving Bruce a few more her special kind of _presents_…after all, it was the Holidays and her parents did raise her to be generous.


End file.
